


Stolen

by quincette



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alpha Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Flirting, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Omega Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Politics, Scenting, This is way softer than I imagined, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Warring Princes AU, Xena-level of historical accuracy, bantering as foreplay, everyone is royal, very mild alpha/omega dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quincette/pseuds/quincette
Summary: “I do not wish you harm, Prince Nicolo of Genoa,” Yusuf whispers in Ligurian, tilting the sharp edge of his saif so it gleams almost delicately in the moonlight. “I merely seek your assistance to end this senseless attack on our shore.”“You are taking me hostage,” he says with an eerie sort of calm that makes sweat prickle at the back of his neck.“You are the crown prince,” Yusuf says by way of admission. “Don’t worry, we will treat you with more grace than your country has ever given us.”The prince exhales carefully, sounding more burdened more by exhaustion than fear. “And you are? You could at least give me your name, alpha.”That stuns Yusuf. It wasn’t the first thing he thought the prince would demand from him. And evidently, he needs to cover his scent better. He should laugh it off, give him a false name, or give him nothing at all. This war between their countries does not have a room for politeness, hasn’t had for centuries. But something about the young prince’s piercing pale eyes compels Yusuf to make himself known to him, this prince with a watery sweet scent.“Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia,” he says. It is his name, just not the one he uses most often.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 58
Kudos: 318
Collections: Omega Nicky Holiday Gift Exchange





	Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I was imagining a scene where an 18-year-old Nicolo meets a 21-year-old Yusuf during Genoa and Pisa's attack on Mahdia in 1087 and that scene mutates into this fic. Enjoy a warring princes AU with a side of alpha omega dynamics.

It was an insane plan, Andromache told him as much. But who could say no to him now that his father and brothers are dead? When Yusuf The Improbable is no longer a joke, but a reality? Yusuf needs peace, and he is not above playing dirty. He is not above foolishly gambling with his life either. 

So he defies her, gathers a handful of his best soldiers, those who move the quietest under cover of darkness, and bids them follow him aboard his simple boat, one built for flight instead of fight. They are dressed in black, their scents masked to nothingness. A fleet of ghosts silently glides across the water to latch on the enemy's warship like a suckerfish to a shark. 

_Rodrigo IV_ is a thing of beauty, if a tad too ornate for Yusuf's taste, and definitely too slow by far. However, it makes for an excellent floating fortress, an apt vessel to safely guard a crown prince. Andromache's warning of a trap niggles at the back of his mind, but he has no time to second guess himself. If worse comes to worst, he has brought enough explosives to stun the enemy and swim to safety. Inshaallah, in a few hours he shall end this war. 

The stench of congregating alphas hits his nose first. Yusuf frowns, this doesn't feel right. Any brilliant strategist knows that a balanced mix of dynamics provides the best defence. The only time a horde of all alphas is necessary is for a berserker attack, which Yusuf personally considers as a desperate, suicidal move, not to mention that it's completely an inelegant war strategy. 

They board the ship a little too easily. They dispatch the patrol also a little too easily. There are too few men guarding the deck, such that Yusuf sends two of his to scour the water looking for signs of an ambush waiting to happen. But the water is deserted, the enemy galleys are anchored far away, their silhouettes dark in the starry horizon. 

The smell of alphas persists.

_Too few alphas for such a pungent air_ , Yusuf thinks as he makes his way down the deck. Unless all of them are in a rut. It could happen when homogeneous dynamics are kept in close quarters – another reason why it is wise to have a balanced mix of all dynamics. 

Then he found bodies, several of them. These alphas were alive minutes ago. Yusuf catches Hisham's eyes across the room, and he gives him a weak shake. _Not ours,_ mouths the captain of his guards. Yusuf nods curtly but has no plans to abort. If anything, he moves with more urgency, whoever did that shortly before their arrival probably had similar motives. Yusuf is both alarmed and intrigued. 

Then, amongst the stench of decay and pheromones, he catches something faintly sweet. It registers to his senses as a thread of cold air in a stuffy room, or the taste of freshwater after a day spent swimming in the salty sea. It's unlike anything he has ever smelled before, and he zeroes in on it as he ventures deeper and deeper into the bowel of the ship.

And there, against the windows, weak silvery moonlight streams inside to paint a silhouette that could only be the crown prince. He is looking down at a body in his feet, seemingly unaware of Yusuf and his men. Whatever had happened there, Yusuf decides, seems irrelevant to his purpose still. So he makes his move.

The press of his curved blade is a whisper against the prince's throat. The gasp the prince makes is small and stuttered.

"I do not wish you harm, Prince Nicolo of Genoa," Yusuf whispers in Ligurian, tilting the sharp edge of his saif so it gleams almost delicately in the moonlight. "I merely seek your assistance to end this senseless attack on our shore."

"You," The prince says, sounds surprised. "You're a Mahdian."

Nicolo finally turns to look at Yusuf's face. There is blood spattered on his cheek. His pale eyes are sharp and haunted, their colour difficult to catch.

"You are taking me hostage," he says with an eerie sort of calm that makes sweat prickle at the back of his neck. 

"You _are_ the crown prince," Yusuf says by way of admission. "Don't worry, we will treat you with more grace than your country has ever given us."

The prince exhales carefully, sounding more burdened by exhaustion than fear. "And you are? You could at least give me your name, Mahdian alpha."

That stuns Yusuf. It wasn't the first thing he thought the prince would demand from him. And evidently, he needs to cover his scent better. He should give him a false name, or give him nothing at all. This war between their countries does not have a room for politeness, hasn't had for centuries. But something about the young prince's piercing pale eyes compels Yusuf to make himself known to him, this prince with a watery sweet scent. 

"Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia," he says. It is his name, just not the one he uses most often.

"Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia," Nicolo repeats. "I regret to tell you that my father has other sons from favoured concubines he would gladly name as heir. I'm afraid I will not be useful for ransom or armistice."

"Yet, here you are, Prince Nicolo, named crown prince, the centrepiece of his strongman invasion, paraded proudly like a prized peacock. Tell me that's not the very definition of favoured?"

There is a ghost of a smile on the prince's lips, sad and fleeting. "Yes, here I am. An omega stowed away with a pack of rutting alpha. Tell me, Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia, what do you think had happened here before you snuck in to take me hostage? Can you explain how you're able to get here seemingly without much difficulty?"

Yusuf does have an idea. 

"Betrayal," he says. That explains so much.

The prince's shoulders sag. "If I perish here as the crown prince, it would give my father a just cause to draw this campaign out. I am worth more dead than alive. I am but one elevated bastard he could afford to discard."

Yusuf wishes he doesn't know what the prince is talking about. He has no room to empathise with the enemy. Oh, but he does. And what a cruel fate this prince had been subjected to. He silently curses himself. 

"This ship, however, he cannot afford to lose," Nicolo adds, "And we are standing above the room where they store the ammunition."

That information lights a spark inside Yusuf's head, but he hesitates. "You are telling me to blow up your father's imperial warship."

"Am I? Maybe I thought a quick death by a blast or drowning is preferable to a slow, unspeakable death in the hands of alphas in a rut." 

Puzzle pieces click inside Yusuf's mind, but he still hasn't got enough to see the bigger picture. 

"And what will happen to you, Prince Nicolo, should you survive the sinking of your father's imperial warship?"

"Prince Nicolo –" the prince says it like he hates every syllable of that name. "– will be declared dead at the hands of Mahdians anyway. And King Rodrigo IV will choose one of his beta bastards to name the new crown prince, at least until such time he presents as a useless omega or an ungrateful alpha that dares to challenge him."

Yusuf goes silent. An idea, one even more insane than sneaking into the enemy's warship to hold their crown prince hostage for peace is taking shape in his head.

"What if you could end the war?"

That earns a snort from the prince. "You hold too much importance in me, servant of Mahdia." 

_That's not a no_ , Yusuf thinks. "Tell me, Prince Nicolo, the Stolen Bride rite of your land. Does it hold against the law on your side of the Mediterranean? Does it bind? Will your people honour it?"

The prince frowns. "When the requirements are met... yes."

Andromache, Yusuf's trusted sage, will kill him for doing this.

"Willing parties, credible witnesses, respectable tokens of affection, three nights under the same roof, the mark of a bond?" Yusuf curses himself for knowing these from _Genoa's Book of Love_ he read as a child. A hefty tome with flowery words Yusuf should have hated but found unable to.

"Yes," says the prince. "But I can only be stolen by someone who outranks me, if you're thinking of claiming my hand, Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia."

Yusuf laughs. "Of course." This kind of laws has always, always been made to ensure those at the top of the food chain stay there. 

Andromache, his trusted sage, will also laugh and then probably still kill him. But Yusuf will make sure she officiates his claim first. Because he's made up his mind.

"I'm claiming this ship, Your Highness. And I happen to know a newly ascended king in dire need of peace and a consort." _In whatever order they may come._

A silly union to end a silly war. How fitting. Yusuf can think about actually surviving a political marriage after.

  
  


***

  
  


"And you just decided that you would steal Genoa's discarded crown prince as your _bride_?"

As it turns out, Andromache did not kill him. She prefers to flay him alive with her disappointments. It is the closest Yusuf has seen her act like an exasperated mother.

"I had planned to steal a prince to sue for peace and steal a prince to sue for peace I did. I merely did what I told you I would, My Sage," he says, refusing to feel guilty. 

"The plan, however ill-conceived it had been," Andromache hisses, "is to keep him hostage for peace, such until we can arrange his safe return when we have secured it." 

"Ah, but If Allah al-Wahhab, The Giver of Gifts, saw it fit to give me a consort through that plan, then I must gratefully accept it, must I not?" 

"My Exalted King Yusuf The Improbable, the Stolen Bride rite is all but a relic in Genoa, its birthplace. Even your own grandsire denounced it as barbaric." 

"Well, I'm not my grandbaba, Andromache. And if I recall that is precisely why you swore fealty to me. And if I have the choice, I'd be content with battles taking place on the negotiation table with pens and words than on our shores with swords and cannonballs. At least that way, we will have a measure of peace long enough to plant our crops and replenish our granary and educate our children. I am not spending more resources on pointless wars!"

Andromache falls silent then. 

"You must see my point?" he cajoles. 

She sighs. "He is a shiny little lure, Al-Tayyib." She only uses that name when she's distraught. "Most of the dead alphas aboard that ship are Mahdian mercenaries. They've always planned to kill him and lay the blame on us. This trap they set has never even needed you, and you walked straight in there."

"And got us a warship and a bride, and a just cause to sue for peace."

Andromache folds her hands. "By all means, enlighten me."

"We will announce that I have successfully performed the venerated Genoan tradition of the Stolen Bride. Then announce the happy occasion of my union to Genoa's crown prince, who is hale, healthy and very much alive and in love, to the rest of Mediterrania," Yusuf says, his hands gesticulating his plan. "You will officiate the bond, of course."

"Of course," the sage says, sarcastic. "You are aware that he is technically not 'a bride'?"

"Ah, semantics. It's Genoa's fault that Ligurian differentiates between genders."

"Their lawyers will contest your opinion."

"It is not an opinion. The Mahdian translation of _Genoa's Book of Love_ does not specify the bride's gender or sex. And that official Arabic translation was given to our late King Muhammad XI by Genoa's own beloved King Rodrigo II, so it's thanks to their own stab on our language that I was able to steal their prince as my bride."

Yusuf feels a little smug when Andromache does not contest his logic. She merely pinches the bridge of her nose like she has a headache. She probably does have a massive one. 

"Alive and pretty much in love?" she scoffs. 

"I'm sure our venerated royal scribe Quynh can pen it more eloquently," says Yusuf, waving his hands. "Have it written joyously that Mahdia and Genoa are now a peaceful family bound by the treaty of marriage. And that this peace will usher in a prosperous age not just for our countries, but also all the Greater Mediterrania!"

"Grand words, Exalted. I shall hold until you have fulfilled all the requirements for the rites," Andromache may have bent to his will, but she'll damn sure make everything is airtight and binding. 

"Willing parties, credible witnesses, respectable tokens of affection, three nights under the same roof, the mark of a bond," Yusuf cites. 

"Yes, I'm sure you know them by heart," she says wryly. "Now, let's start with willing parties. Is the prince willing?"

Yusuf stops dead, his next grand speech forgotten. 

Andromache raises her eyebrows. "Have you actually _asked_ him?"

"Well…" Yusuf starts. 

And because Allah sees it fit to punish him for outplaying his hand, Hisham chooses that exact moment to stride purposefully into the throne room and kneel before him. 

"Exalted, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nicolo of Genoa is requesting an audience–" he pauses, then adds carefully, "–with Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia."

"Al-Tayyib, servant of Mah–" Andromache parrots, "–oh, for the love of all gods, Exalted!" she throws her hands up. "He doesn't even _know_ who you are?" 

_Oh, yes, that_ , Yusuf thinks. _Let's start from that._

***

Nicolo does not know that much about Mahdia and Mahdians. He's been told plenty of unflattering things about them at the seminary, and later, during his brief tenure as his father's latest crown prince. They're barbarians, cheats, gluttons, cruel heathens who possess no modicum of propriety. They let their omegas roam unprotected and their alphas emasculated, going so far as mutilating their cocks. Privately, he has always taken the information with a grain of salt. Their countries have been at war for generations before he was born after all. 

He almost believed all that the night before, when he was certain he would not make it alive out of his father's ship; the ship that was supposed to be his own floating fortress. He almost believed that the ship was infiltrated by Mahdian alphas in rut intending to do unspeakable things to the enemy's omega prince. But then he managed to uncover one of their faces and recognised the alpha as one of the ship's guards. And then the slobbering alpha told him as much. That he was there as the sacrificial lamb. That his life was worth more lost than cherished. That his death was orchestrated by his own countrymen.

Nicolo killed the alpha, stabbing his gut with his own sword that he managed to unsheathe as the alpha's hands were busy roaming his body. He killed several others. Celeste, his remaining loyal guard, killed a few more before they managed to knock her unconscious. 

Then the real Mahdians did infiltrate the ship. And here he is, a Stolen Bride. 

Or is he? There is a very small pool of people in the Greater Mediterrania who have the birthright to steal him. That is, if he qualifies as a bride at all under the Genoan canon law. Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia, whose hand he gripped hard as he led him out of the ship, doesn't seem to belong in that tiny pool. Perhaps, he is stealing Nicolo for his master, his king?

At this point, Nicolo is so tired of all the schemes to murder him, he has grown numb. He is in his enemy's territory, yet he is not afraid. The worst that he could imagine happening to him had happened anyway. 

The Mahdians, so far at least, has treated him with courtesy. They took Celeste and gave her proper medical treatment. They gave him a villa to stay in that befits visiting dignitaries. They brought the content of his cabin to his room so he could bathe and change. They let him roam around the garden. Granted, he is still a prisoner, judging by the guards stationed around the perimeter of the property, but at least when he requested an audience with Al-Tayyib, their leader obliged. 

The Mahdia he has experienced so far is foreign, sure, but not so different from Genoa. Both favour ornamentation in their architecture. Genoa decorates its building with an abundance of carvings and paintings of biblical and old pagan characters with a plethora of nudity while Mahdia favours intricate geometric shapes layered upon one another to form breathtaking patterns.

They have plenty of shared flora, like the tiny white flowers carpeting the garden Nicolo is currently in. The trees are exotic though; one of them bleeds fragrant red sap and has curly branches that form a shapely canopy, unlike anything Nicolo has ever seen before. 

"It's called the dragon blood tree," says a voice behind him. 

Nicolo turns around to find all the guards he could see kneeling where they are. The owner of the voice, the man he knows as Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia, is approaching him in a manner of someone who owns everything around him. 

“Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia,” he says. 

The captain of the guards, the only other person who currently isn't kneeling, looks like he's about to say something, but Al-Tayyib merely raises his hand, and he aborts it. 

"Your Highness, Prince Nicolo of Genoa," greets Al-Tayyib, and he clasps his arm at the elbow, like someone born to nobility greeting his equal. If Nicolo is surprised, he manages to hide it. 

Nicolo takes a moment to really look at him. Al-Tayyib is clad in billowy layers of linen, which would look understated if it weren't for the gold threads that form the geometric patterns adorning his sleeves, cuffs, waist and neck, accentuating his form. His beard is trimmed neatly to reveal an angular jaw. He is wearing a turban with a matching design, and Nicolo finds himself bereft that it hides the man's glorious curls. His eyes trail down to his face, and he finds Al-Tayyib looking at him, his eyes twinkling. 

"Who are you, truthfully?" Nicolo says before he could stop himself. 

"I did not falsely claim the name I gave you, Prince Nicolo," he replies, looking a little sheepish. 

Nicolo has always been rather good at reading people. "That's not all you are, though."

"No," he agrees, tightening his grip on Nicolo's elbow, his brown eyes locked on Nicolo's. "I am Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad, of the Al-Kaysani clan, The Improbable, second of my name, King of Mahdia, also known as her servant, Al-Tayyib. I beg your forgiveness for the omission." 

***

Prince Nicolo of Genoa still smells as intriguing as the first time Yusuf caught his scent. Subtle, quenching, with a barely-there sweetness that Yusuf realises he keeps looking for more. Perhaps later he would offer the prince something to make the it more discreet, as Mahdians don't flaunt their scents the way Genoans do. It's precious and intimate, a gift to be shared only with the nearest and dearest. 

The prince takes the reveal of his full name well, considering. 

"You really are qualified to steal my hand, then," he says, calmly detaching himself from Yusuf's grip. 

Granted, he looks a bit mousy and needing several nights of good sleep, but the prince is not one to beat around the bush. 

"I am hoping to meet all the requirements first," Yusuf says, holding his gaze. He still can't pinpoint just one colour to describe Nicolo's eyes. 

"Starting with 'willing parties'?"

"Yes," says Yusuf, suddenly feels a little embarrassed for doing everything out of order, however convenient or accidental the whole arrangement is. 

Nicolo is moving, ambling toward the railing overlooking the sea. Yusuf follows. 

"And are you willing, Exalted?" he says, looking at the sea where _Rodrigo IV_ is docked safely behind Mahdia's sea walls, his hands on the white marble balustrade. 

Yusuf smiles even as he finds himself preferring Nicolo's 'Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia' over his formal and correct honorific. "There is no greater help to end the war between our countries, Your Highness."

"There is no more convenient means, you mean."

Definitely not the typical sweet omega. But Yusuf relishes the challenge. "Mutually convenient," he concedes, giving Nicolo a little nod. 

"And are you willing, Your Highness?" asks Yusuf when the following seconds pass in silence. 

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" says Nicolo. His face remains impassive and his tone flat. 

Yusuf finds himself unable to meet Nicolo's eyes. It's true. Yusuf prefers to bargain, negotiate, seduce, woo and cajole. But he is not above coercion, blackmail, and evidently holding someone a prisoner. The stakes are just too great. 

"Aboard the ship last night, you asked me what would happen if I survive the sinking of my father's ship, were it to happen," he pauses, shifting his gaze back to Yusuf's face. "I did not tell you that sometimes I wished I could fake the death of the Crown Prince Nicolo of Genoa so I might live as someone else."

Yusuf, who used to sneak out of the kingdom and assume an identity as a simple merchant to find out more about the world, understands the prince's yearning too well. "Who would this someone be?"

Nicolo shrugs, "Anyone, no one, an unremarkable omega with watered-down scents with no royal peerage to please."

"Is that what they've been telling you?"

"I've been called worse. As I'm sure you have been called terrible names, too."

Yusuf hums in agreement, though he is aware that his alpha privilege has shielded him well, comparatively. His eyes slid to Nicolo's lips, and the distinctive beauty mark on his jaw. 

Nicolo leaned out of the balustrade then, tiptoeing on his feet. "How high is this garden, Exalted? Would I survive the fall to the sea, were I to jump?"

"I would prefer not finding out," Yusuf says truthfully. 

"I'm an excellent swimmer, I'll have you know," Nicolo says, his eyes bright. Currently, they look exactly like the colour of the water below, which Yusuf hopes is not an omen. "I can jump and swim ashore and be a nobody, a servant to no one, and you can find someone to play the part of your Prince Consort Nicolo. A more agreeable, prettier omega, perhaps."

Yusuf grabs his wrist then, propriety be damned. "Perhaps. But I think you are destined for greater things," he says, his tone a little clipped. 

Nicolo looks surprised, but he doesn't try to bat Yusuf's hands away. 

So Yusuf presses on. "If you truly wished to swim away and be a nobody, a servant to no one, you would have jumped from that ship the moment you sniffed the alpha horde. You could have planned it the moment you step on board of that ship. But you didn't. You had stayed because you _hoped_. Because you care about the few who are loyal to you. Perhaps, you had even _dreamed_ that you could do something worthwhile once you are crowned. You fought and you came with me and here we are. I choose to believe that Allah al-Muqaddim, The Expediter, has put you in my path as a moon that lights the darkness we're in so we can find our way to peace." 

Nicolo's scent sharpens into something icy. He closes his eyes, looking impossibly young and Yusuf is starkly reminded that the prince, at three years younger than Yusuf, is just 18 years old. He barely reaches his full peerage. They're both children, really, just as Andromache so often reminded him. Young and foolish and tired and hopeful children.

"You presume to know me so well, Exalted," Nicolo says when he opens his eyes again. 

"Desperate times, Your Highness."

"Indeed," Nicolo says. When he moves to extract his hand, Yusuf lets him go. He turns his back to the sea and hefts himself to sit on the balustrade. Yusuf's heart skips a beat. Nicolo sees it, judging by that fleeting smirk he gives him. "I assume you will gather your credible witnesses?"

"Your loyal guard and the captain of my guards were there when I stole you. I have the support of some of our peers. The rest of the noble realm will follow, including your dear country." 

"These noble peers you can count on, did you mean the Drunken Duke of Marselha?"

Under any other circumstances, Yusuf would have laughed. Evidently, his friendship with the duke is known far and wide. "Sebastien, the Archduke of Marselha, my bosom brother, yes. And Crown Princess Nile of Nubia, and King Lykon of Algeria. I imagine King Stefano of Pisa would egg your father on to oppose this match, but I am confident we can outreason them at the treaty table with the help of others."

Nicolo grasps his shoulder and looks him in the eye. "Exalted, should I be willing, do you intend to invade my shore and rule Genoa through me?"

It didn't cross his mind. But now that Nicolo mentioned it, he is sure that his more bloodthirsty peers would have had similar ideas. Yusuf lays his hands atop Nicolo's and returns his gaze steadfastly "No," he says. "There is a limit to a king's rule, and mine is within Mahdia."

Nicolo's gaze softens. "Not all kings think so."

"Do you know, Your Highness," ask Yusuf, "Why am I called The Improbable, and why I kept the name?"

Nicolo shakes his head. 

"I am the seventh son of a seventh son. Not so long ago, I had been the furthest in line from the throne, such that I could simply be a servant to Mahdia. Then I lost my uncles and my father and my cousins and my brothers, the menfolk of my family had been picked clean by this war. And here I am. Too many others have lost their kins too, this must stop." 

"My noble mother was the king's favourite courtesan," Nicolo says, apropos of nothing. "My maternal grandfather let me live at court for a few years before shipping me off to the seminary just in case someone powerful had an idea to cull my father's bastards. The culling did happen, and here I am, plucked far away from my supposed matrimony to my God. But my father keeps making more of us, just in case." He chuckles.

Yusuf squeezes Nicolo's hand in reflex. He is surprised when Nicolo returns the gesture. "Now that you are stolen, who will take your place?"

Nicolo takes a moment to recall. "A boy from the Grimaldi family, or the Durazzo, depending on which one gets acknowledged first." 

"Will these families be susceptible to peace, do you think?"

"If peace brings more prosperity," says Nicolo. "It pains me to answer such. Everyone should be happy to have peace."

"People forget easily."

"Yes," the prince agrees. 

The silence that follows is companionable. 

It is the prince who breaks it with a question. "And the respectable tokens of affection?"

That makes Yusuf chuckle. "What does your heart desire, My Prince?"

"That dragon blood tree you just introduced me to." He points at the tree. 

"Why?" Yusuf asks, curious. 

"It's rather handsome, and it smells nice. A little like you."

Yusuf looks up to find Nicolo smiling. Not one of the fleeting ones he caught glimpses of, but a full smile, a little cheeky and lopsided. Later, much later, Yusuf will remember this as the moment he realises that Nicolo has stolen his heart. 

"Granted," says Yusuf, amused. "That tree was dear to my lady mother, I think she would have approved. But I am not sure the rest of the realm will see a mere tree as a respectable enough token of affection. I insist you have it along with the garden and the villa with all its content."

"Very generous of you," says Nicolo.

Yusuf grins. "And still, you should ask for something more. You are, after all, a crown prince. Don't sell yourself short."

Nicolo frowns. "I think it'll be much quicker to ask you what else would you give this stolen crown prince?"

Yusuf feels a little flirty and mischievous himself. "I happened to acquire a new Genoan warship recently. It needs some deep cleaning and renaming, but I think, once it's done, you would love it."

"My father will be furious."

"Oh, but rightfully he cannot. It is a majestically respectable gift. To say otherwise will be to slander Genoan craftsmanship."

Nicolo's shoulder shakes with laughter. Then: "And you, Exalted, what would you have of me?"

_Many things, anything, everything,_ Yusuf thinks. But it is surprisingly easy to settle for just one thing. 

"Your honesty," he says. 

Nicolo looks puzzled. 

"Yesterday you were my enemy and today you are not. Your words have never been designed for my comfort, yet I found them comforting anyway," he elaborates. 

Nicolo still looks confused. 

"We favour intricacies in Mahdia, My Prince. Shapes upon shapes, lines upon lines, sweet rhymes upon lies and deceptions both intended or otherwise. Be true with your words to me always. I swear upon my lady mother's grave, I will not harm you over your honest words. As I have sworn so to my nearest and dearest." 

"Granted," Nicolo says, softly. 

Then, not so softly. "You must also want children from me."

Yusuf finds he enjoys talking to the prince. "Our union is expected to be fruitful, yes."

Yusuf feels Nicolo blush rather than sees it. His scent grows warmer and explicitly sweeter, like nectar from honeysuckle mixed with morning dew. Yusuf takes a lungful of it so greedily it borders on indecent. 

"Three nights under the same roof and mark of a bond, first, yes?" Nicolo says after clearing his throat. 

"Yes," says Yusuf, and he braves to take Nicolo's hand and kiss his wrist, tasting more nectar in the air. 

Nicolo shivers a little. "I s-should," he stammers, "I should warn you that I am completely ignorant in my ways with– with an alpha."

Oh, Yusuf could _purr_. "It will not be a hardship to show you the ways, My Prince."

And then because he takes pity on the young prince, he unlatches his lips from Nicolo's skin and settles to hold his hand. 

"I forgive you," Nicolo later says after his rabbiting pulse calms down. 

Yusuf looks at him questioningly. 

"I forgive you for the omission of your name, Al-Tayyib, servant of Mahdia," he repeats. 

Yusuf laughs heartily, finding himself both charmed and relieved. "May I have one more request, Your Highness?"

Nicolo perks up. 

"Call me Yusuf, when it's just the two of us."

Nicolo's smile is shy. "If you'd call me Nicolo, Yusuf."

"Thank you, Nicolo," Yusuf says, savouring the sweetness of their name on each other's tongue, now spoken with a shared promise of companionship, and more. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> My heartfelt thanks to the wonderful peeps at All And More and Top!Joe servers for the feedback and brainstorm – you rock! 
> 
> I will be writing a smutty epilogue (the three nights under the same roof and the mark of a bond parts, ahem). The idea and general, um, choreography, is there, but I have a few WIP I need to complete first before I circle back :) Thanks fro reading, please gimme a shout out if you enjoyed this :D means the world to me !


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